


Better Than Sex

by LizzieHarker



Series: The Arrowsverse [27]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Hawkeye (Comics)
Genre: Bromance at its finest, But there's a reason he's called Hawkeye, Clint Barton is a Disaster, Humor, M/M, Other, POV Clint Barton, post-Steve's 100th Birthday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 11:22:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15684432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizzieHarker/pseuds/LizzieHarker
Summary: Clint barely made it out of the stairwell before he pressed his back against the doorframe of the Rogers-Barnes apartment. Futzing mission. Futzing sunburn. Futzing itchy, peeling skin. Of course it was that one spot he couldn't reach. He worked the space between his shoulder blades against the door, rounding his back and clutching the poorly wrapped birthday gift to his chest.The whole thing was supposed to take a week, tops, but noooo, he’d been in the field for almost three, missed his bestie’s 100th birthday, and did he mention the sunburn?Clint had worked his way up his shoulders when the door popped open and a very confused Bucky peered out at him.“Hey, buddy,” Bucky said, leaning in the doorway. “Whatcha doing?”“Itching,” Clint answered.





	Better Than Sex

Clint barely made it out of the stairwell before he pressed his back against the doorframe of the Rogers-Barnes apartment. Futzing mission. Futzing sunburn. Futzing itchy, peeling skin. Of course it was that one spot he couldn't reach. He worked the space between his shoulder blades against the door, rounding his back and clutching the poorly wrapped birthday gift to his chest.

The whole thing was supposed to take a week, tops, but noooo, he’d been in the field for almost three, missed his bestie’s 100th birthday, and did he mention the sunburn?

Clint had worked his way up his shoulders when the door popped open and a very confused Bucky peered out at him.

“Hey, buddy,” Bucky said, leaning in the doorway. “Whatcha doing?”

“Itching,” Clint answered. He lifted the paper-wrapped package with one hand. “Brought gifts.”

Buck waved him in. Groaning, Clint parted from the doorframe, entered the apartment, and immediately pressed himself to the edge of the bookcase. Oh, sweet friction. Tight, peeling sunburn felt awful enough, but—

Giving Clint a once-over, Bucky’s gaze fixed on his arms. “Are you covered in calamine lotion?”

“Not covered enough.” Goddamn evil plants. He’d run the mission, gotten the hell burned outta him, and insult to futzing injury, had tripped over his own feet on the way to the quinjet and fell into poison whatever-the-fuck. He’d broken out almost immediately despite the decontamination shower.

Clint musta mumbled aloud cause his bff barely suppressed a snort. Steve poked his head out from the studio.

“Hey, Clint,” Steve said. He, too, narrowed his eyes. “You okay?”

“Peachy with a side of keen,” Clint offered. Just a little to the left. Oh, yeah. He sighed, hitting the right spot. “Brought presents,” he added, holding up the package.

Steve popped back into the studio and emerged fully a moment later, wiping his hands on a rag. Paint splattered his jeans and shirt, and a small smile curled the corner of his mouth. “For me? You got me a present?”

“Can’t let the big one hundred slide by.” Clint stepped away from the bookcase and gave the gift to Steve. He missed the bookcase. He missed it so bad.

Steve took the package, his smile growing. “You didn’t have to get me anything, Clint.”

Clint shrugged. “Didn’t. I stole it.”

The blank look on Steve’s face as he paused half-way into tearing the paper open was priceless. “You… stole it?”

“Open it before you go all Truth and Justice on me, okay?”

Bucky slung his metal arm across Clint’s shoulders, leaning in conspiratorially. “Tell me it’s something good, bro. Tell me you jacked something ridiculous. Is it a glittery red, white, and blue g-string?”

Clint leaned into him, a small moan escaping his lips. “Buck, keep rubbing my arm and I’ll tell you anything,” he groaned.

“I already have one of those, Buck,” Steve deadpanned, tearing the paper apart anyway. That tiny wrinkle appeared between his brows as he turned over the other leather journal. “This is . . .this is one of mine. You found one of my sketchbooks?”

“Lifted it from that sideshow act at Coney Island. Meant to give it to you last year, but,” Clint said, making an airy gesture with his free arm. God, if Buck kept at him, Clint would melt into a puddle and stain the— “Did you guys get a new rug?”

“Hmm? Oh. Yeah,” Bucky answered absently, walking his metal fingers along Clint’s shoulder.

“Clint,” Steve said, and Clint couldn’t help tensing at that tone. Old habits. But Steve turned the pages of his sketchbook, eyes shining when he looked up at him. “This is so thoughtful. Thank you.”

An easy grin perked up the corners of Clint’s mouth. He’d known how much those sketchbooks meant to Steve, and how uncomfortable having them displayed made him. Plus who didn’t love a little petty larceny?

“Happy birthday. Sorry I missed it.”

“That’s okay,” Steve answered, a little too quickly. “You didn’t miss anything. Buck and I . . .uh . . .stayed in.”

Buck currently ghosted his fingers down Clint’s spine, causing him to shiver. Maybe if he wiggled the right way—

“Did you look through the sketches?”

“Huh?” Clint forced himself upright, blinking owlishly at Steve.

“The sketches. Did you look at them?”

Clint toed the rug with his shoes. “I may have flipped through a couple pages.” 

He half expected Steve to frown, but instead he plopped down on the couch, patting the seat beside him. “Wanna see?”

Glancing back at Bucky, Clint moved toward the couch and took a seat. The cushions didn’t feel right, and he bounced a bit, trying to settle in. “What’s with the new couch? The old one was great. Way more comfy.”

Steve quickly ducked his head, attention focused on the sketchbook, but he wasn’t quick enough to hide his blush. Clint smirked, on the verge of saying something undoubtedly sarcastic, when he felt Bucky’s left hand at his back again. Oh god, it felt so good. 

“Had it with me during the war,” Steve was saying. “It was kind of more of journal than anything. I guess no one bothered to open or read it, otherwise I think America would have a very different idea of their Star-Spangled Man with a Plan.”

“Yeah, like all his homoerotic fantasies about his extremely handsome sergeant,” Bucky quipped.

Steve shot him a half-hearted look of exasperation. “Your mouth always did get you in trouble, Buck.”

“In more ways than one.” He winked at Clint. Steve’s blush deepened.

“Anyway—“

And as much as Clint wanted to hear good old fashion war stories about Steve and his art, he couldn’t focus on anything but the itching. If he just— Oh god, oh yes, yes yes . . . 

Clint didn’t realize he’d dropped his head back and moaned until Bucky’s metal fingers stopped moving against his skin. He’d finally breached Clint’s shirt and oh, the smooth, cool contact had been perfect. But now Buck and Steve were both staring at him like he’d gotten up, told them to call him Delilah, and declared himself King of the Birds. Well. Clint thought about leaning back and silently demanding Bucky scratch at him, but something else was different about the apartment. 

He narrowed his eyes, studying the walls for a minute. Every time he’d mentioned a change, Bucky had touched him. “Did you guys paint?”

Sure enough, Buck went right back to rubbing, that satisfying pleasure pain of sunburn aftercare causing Clint to shiver again. Futzing hell, Buck was distracting him. What a jackass. Steve’s blushed deepened and he swallowed. Bucky hit a patch in the middle of Clint’s back that had him keening all over again, effectively making him forget what he’d been about to say. He turned his face and hid it in Bucky’s neck. “Oh, that feels so good, Buck. Don’t stop,” he moaned. “Feels better than sex, oh god.”

“Barton, you wanna keep making noises like that, you’re gonna have to buy me dinner,” Bucky answered. “I ain’t free.”

Clint snorted. “Ain’t cheap, but you are easy.”

Bucky promptly removed his hand. “Easy, huh?”

“No, no, no, I’m sorry. I’ll buy you whatever you want as long as they deliver, just don’t stop.”

Steve perked up. “We’ve been meaning to try that new Thai place on the corner.”

“Whatever, order whatever,” Clint mumbled. He flipped, sprawling himself across Bucky’s lap from hip to chest. He arched up into the touch. “Oh yeah, right there.”

“You two are so weird,” Steve teased, getting off the couch.

“I love how nonchalant you are about my best friend making obscene sex noises in my lap,” Bucky called.

Steve bent and kissed the top of Bucky’s head. “You know I love a good show.”

Clint tracked Steve’s movements as he headed for the kitchen. “And a new table,” he muttered, almost to himself. Steve froze. Clint smirked up at him. “Steven,” he drawled.

Steve Rogers—Captain America, Moral Compass of the Nation, Stalwart Sigil of Truth, Justice, and Never Forgetting to Floss—turned bright red from forehead to hands and Clint would bet good money and his favorite coffee pot that the rest of him was just as flushed.

Clint smirked harder. “Someone had a great fucking birthday, huh?” 

Steve abruptly turned on his heel and fled into the kitchen.

Beneath him, Bucky chuckled. “We may have gotten a little carried away.”

“ _We_?” 

“Okay, I may have gotten a little carried away, but what can I say? I love the guy.”

“I’m sure the entire building knows just how much,” Clint teased. Bucky pinched him. Hard. “Ow! What the futz, bro? I’m hurting over here and you pinch me? Rude.”

“It was a love pinch. Besides, we live on the top floor and had the place soundproofed.”

“Love pinch, my ass,” Clint grumbled, immediately regretting it when Bucky did, in fact, pinch his ass. “OW! Buck,” he whined. “I’m so itchy. Why are you being mean?”

Bucky pressed a kiss to Clint’s forehead and blessedly went back to soothing his hurts. He had no idea how Bucky’s metal hand stayed cool—or maybe his skin retained most of its heat still—but Clint was practically unconscious by the time Steve came back with his tablet. He didn’t even know what he’d ended up ordering. The whole world consisted of Buck’s hands and the steady rise and fall of his breathing. 

Much to what Clint would assume was Steve’s chagrin, Clint kept up the sex noises, moaning and keening as he rocked against Bucky. Some things in life were just too good not to enjoy fully. Buck was a great best bro. Snuggling down, Clint sighed into Bucky’s neck and closed his eyes.

*

“If he drools on me, I’m dumping his ass on the floor,” Bucky grumbled, his armful of dumb blond archer writhing as Barton mumbled about the uselessness of arrows on death-beam shooting plants. Or something. Buck lost the plot after Barton started giggling about how the tiny hairs in a Venus Flytrap tickled. He wasn’t gonna ask.

Steve sat beside them, Barton’s legs draped over his lap, turning the pages of his sketchbook with one hand while rubbing Barton’s leg with the other. “He’ll just push against the couch then and whine until you stick him back on your lap. I put the aloe in the fridge for when he wakes up. It should help.”

Bucky threaded the fingers of his right hand through Barton’s hair. “Fine, I won’t drop him,” he grumbled, but he didn’t the chance to play at being inconvenienced because Steve snorted, biting his lip to keep from laughing. “You find something good in there?”

“Of course, I did. It’s my sketchbook,” Steve said, shooting Bucky a wry look. “You know how Clint said he flipped through a couple pages?”

“Yeah.”

“Guess he missed this one.” 

Steve held up the book. Bucky smirked. Barton had made it his life goal to get the scoop on what he called World War Threesome, and dig up the dirt on whether Buck and Steve had been in a relationship with Peggy Carter. To date, they never confirmed nor denied Barton’s accusations.

The page currently on display showed Bucky in bed, his hair ruffled, and Peggy’s head tucked beneath his chin, both of them sound asleep. If Barton knew he’d had evidence in his bandage-covered hands, he’d be insufferable.

Steve chuckled softly, brushing the edge of the drawing with his thumb. “Think we should show him?”

Buck snorted. “Hell, no. Teasing him is all the fun.”

Barton giggled again, rubbing against Bucky’s arm and muttering.

Tilting his head, Steve looked at the archer currently occupying his boyfriend. “Think he heard?”

“Mmm, nice coffee tree,” Barton muttered. “Ow! Bad coffee tree! Is hot, coffee’s supposed to be hot but in my mouth. Aw, skin, ow.” He whimpered, and Bucky’s eyebrows tried to climb into his hairline.

“No, baby, I’m pretty sure we’re in the clear,” Buck said, rubbing Barton’s back. His BFF was an absolute disaster, but what could say? He was kinda fond of the guy.

Steve laughed to himself, still flipping through his book.

**Author's Note:**

> Posting a day early because tomorrow is BUSY and I'm not feeling all that great today. 
> 
> \-----
> 
> Follow me [on Tumblr!](http://lizzieharker.tumblr.com/)


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